


But Still It Burns

by SZRaff



Category: The 100 (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Military, F/F, F/M, M/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-04-27
Updated: 2020-06-14
Packaged: 2021-03-02 03:54:21
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 3
Words: 5,412
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23878741
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SZRaff/pseuds/SZRaff
Summary: Captain Clarke Griffin has six months left of her tour. Just six more months in the oppressive Sankru sun. The last thing she expected to encounter out there is her old flame, Major Lexa Woods.
Relationships: Clarke Griffin/Lexa
Comments: 25
Kudos: 175





	1. Prologue

Clarke absently swirled her gin and tonic, not paying attention to the conversation around her. Her focus was on the other side of the bar on the group that had just walked in. There were a dozen or so of them. They were loud and clearly hyped up.

It wasn’t difficult to work out who the group were; the signs were all there. They were obviously fit and could generally be sorted into two body types regardless of gender: broad shoulders and bulging biceps strained at a number of tshirts, while others were slim yet toned. That, and the regulation cropped hairstyles gave the group's identity away like a banner held above them: these were Marines, fresh out of basic training.

Clarke was intrigued. She had heard rather than seen these recruits over the past week. The medics had been trapped on a training course to refresh their battlefield first aid skills and so had limited interaction with the other lifeforms on base. It was one of the things that frustrated Clarke the most as she had barely met any personnel outside of the Army Medical Corps since getting a sponsorship a year ago. As much as Clarke valued the guidance of the senior medical staff around her, Clarke wanted some interaction with soldiers her own age. Sure, there were a few other baby medics and some younger nurses around, but they were still within the medical bubble. Sometimes Clarke just wanted to get away from that for a while.

'Bootnecks are always so loud,' one of the surgeons complained, turning his nose up at the sudden change in atmosphere.

'But they do know how to have fun,' another countered. They looked over at the group with some amusement. They did indeed seem to be having fun. 

'I might head back soon,' Dr Jackson sighed, running a hand over his tired face. 'It's only going to get rowdier in here and I don't want to deal with the aftermath of a fight tonight.'

Clarke frowned at the assumption. 'You don't know they're going to start a fight.'

Jackson shrugged. 'They might not start it, but they'll definitely finish it.'

The other doctors and a couple of nurses agreed and added that they would leave soon too. Clarke was a bit put out; she wanted to stay and spend a bit more time away from the base, even if it was just at the local pub.

'I'll stay here for a bit,' Clarke told them, inviting a number of frowns. 'I'll be fine, I just don't want to go back yet. Besides, some of the nurses are staying a little longer. I'll come back with them.'

'Alright Clarke,' Jackson nodded, glancing over to where the aforementioned nurses sat a few booths away. 'Just make sure you don’t walk back alone.'

'I promise.' Clarke appreciated his concern for her, even if it did feel a bit overbearing sometimes. 

The rest of the booth occupants gathered their belongings and headed out. Clarke finished her drink and headed to the bar for another. She had just ordered when a raucous cheer from the marines made Clarke glance back over at them. Another marine - a woman - had just walked in. She definitely fitted the slim, toned build and had cropped hair to match the rest of the troop.

‘Here she is!’ One of the marines boomed, giving the newcomer a clap on the back. 

A bald marine with a full tattoo sleeve stepped up to the woman with a beermat in his hands. ‘Can I have an autograph, ma’am?’

Another slapped the beermat from his hands. ‘First Lieutenant Woods will not be taking any more questions at this time.’

Clarke was intrigued by the skit, not understanding any of it but she enjoyed watching the interactions. A few of the others gave one armed hugs and ruffled her hair. The woman laughed the whole time and gave the closest marine a playful swat on the arm. ‘If I get this round will you all pack it in?’

The group roared with laughter again, interspersed with a chorus of ‘No!’s and ‘We’ll see!’s. 

The woman shrugged. ‘It was worth a shot.’

‘Or a crate!’ Someone piped up. More cheers. Clarke avidly watched the woman flip off the group and approach the bar. 

Curiosity got the better of Clarke and she scooted along the bar to settle herself close enough to speak to the female marine, but not close enough for it to be weird.

‘You seem to be the most popular person at the bar tonight,’ Clarke commented with a friendly smile. 

The woman seemed surprised to find that Clarke was talking to her. She glanced back at the troop behind her. ‘Yeah, they like to make a fuss.’

 _No wonder_ , Clarke thought. On closer inspection, Clarke saw that the woman was stunning. She had bright green eyes, full lips, a sharp jawline, and high cheekbones. She was about a head taller than Clarke, and the hint of a black-lined tattoo peeked from the sleeve of her t-shirt on lightly tanned and reasonably toned arms. 

‘And what is it they’re fussing over?’ Clarke asked, reigning her roaming eyes back in.

The woman looked a little embarrassed at Clarke’s attention, _bless her_. Clarke thought it was adorable. 

‘I got selected to do an interview about my experience of training as a marine, so the team are roasting me for it.’

‘I see,’ Clarke chuckled. ‘So you’re kind of a big deal.’

‘Too right she is,’ a bald barrel-chested man appeared behind them. ‘Our young Commander here is always in the spotlight.’

‘Fuck off Quint,’ the woman rolled her eyes, annoyance rather than malice in her voice. The bartender returned with Clarke’s gin and tonic.

‘I’ll get this one for the lady,’ Quint announced loudly. 

Clarke scoffed. Occasionally she would find the offer flattering, but this guy was not her type and was rudely interrupting her conversation with someone who most definitely _was_ her type. 

‘No you won’t,’ Clarke corrected, handing her own money over to the barman. ‘This lady will get her own drinks.’

Quint huffed. ‘I’m just being chivalrous here, no need to be a bitch about it.’ 

Clarke felt the rage start to swell within her.

‘Quint.’ The female marine’s voice was sharp and her eyes were stern. ‘Walk away. Now.’

Quint looked like he was going to argue, but decided against it at the intensity of her gaze and seemed particularly unhappy about it. ‘Whatever.’ He skulked back over to the group with a sour look on his face.

‘I’m sorry about that,’ the woman apologised earnestly. ‘I’ll leave you to drink in peace.’ She moved to go but Clarke stopped her with a hand on her forearm. 

‘No, stay. Forget about it. We were just getting talking. I’m Clarke, by the way.’

The woman seemed uncertain. ‘Are you a journalist?’

Clarke laughed out loud at the unexpected question. ‘Absolutely not.’

She still seemed skeptical, as though she couldn’t understand why Clarke would want to continue their conversation. 

‘Alright, let’s start again.’ Clarke unzipped her purse, slipped her ID card out and set it on the bar for the woman to see. ‘Hi, I’m Second Lieutenant Clarke Griffin, Student Medical Officer, Army Medical Corps.’ 

Her green eyes flicked to the card and then to Clarke. After a moment she held out her hand, noticeably more relaxed.

‘First Lieutenant Lexa Woods, Marine Commando.’

Clarke withheld her hand and cocked an eyebrow in challenge. ‘I showed you mine, you show me yours.’

First Lieutenant Lexa Woods chuckled and pulled her own ID from her pocket. She held it out to Clarke. ‘Is that satisfactory, ma’am?’

Clarke examined the ID and read that First Lieutenant Lexa Woods’ full name was actually First Lieutenant Alexandra Woods. Clarke nodded, satisfied with what she read, and shook the outstretched hand. ‘Nice to meet you, Lt Woods. Now that’s out of the way, will you stay for a drink with me?’

Lt Woods smiled and took a seat. ‘Only if you call me Lexa.’

Clarke was pleased she was getting somewhere at last. ‘So, Lexa. Now that the introductions are out of the way, why do you dislike journalists?’

Lexa laughed and began to explain. As the night went on, Clarke and Lexa talked, drank, and got to know each other. Lexa ordered a round of drinks for her fellow marines that seemed to keep them happy for a while. A couple of them came over to join their conversation while they ordered their own drinks. 

Clarke knew that she wasn’t imagining the chemistry between them, and that it wasn’t the warmth of the pub making Clarke feel flushed and a little bit giddy. As they spoke there were light touches here, knees brushing there. The gradually stronger gins didn’t help Clarke remain subtle in her actions either.

The rest of Lexa’s troop began to mingle and try their luck chatting up other patrons. Before long they looked to move on to another venue, a few of the nurses Clarke knew in tow. Lexa declined the invitation to join them and received a loud and suggestive jeer from the group, which Lexa apologised for the moment they were out of the door.

Clarke found the whole thing highly entertaining and decided to up her game. ‘Well they’re not wrong, are they?’

Lexa’s eyes widened imperceptibly and she sighed with relief. ‘Oh thank god, I thought I was entirely misreading the situation.’

Clarke chuckled at her reaction. ‘Not at all. I’m glad my gaydar is still accurate though.’

Lexa shrugged, mock apologetically. ‘Looks like mine needs recalibrating.’

Clarke shook her head with a smirk. ‘I reckon it was getting some interference considering I’m bi.’

Lexa nodded thoughtfully, her grin roguish. ‘That’s definitely the issue. I never usually have that problem.’

‘Oh yeah?’ Clarke grinned. ‘That’s what they all say.’

Lexa clutched a hand to her chest. ‘Ooh, a performance joke? That cuts deep.’

‘I’m sure you’ll get over it.’ Clarke bit her lip, her pupils dilated as she looked at Lexa. ‘Do you want to get out of here?’

Lexa seemed mildly surprised by Clarke’s forwardness, as though Lexa had been expecting to be the one to advance the evening. 

‘Your place?’ Lexa proposed. ‘I would offer mine but it’s a six-woman mess and I don’t want to put you through the trauma of dealing with the rest of my unit when they get back. The girls are just as vicious as the guys.’

Clarke was more than happy to spend the night in her own, en-suite room with the marine. She finished her drink and shrugged on her jacket. ‘Then let’s go.’

Lexa took Clarke’s hand and led them out of the bar. 

The barracks where they were both accommodated was only a ten minute walk from the pub, and in that time it was extremely difficult to keep their hands off each other. They paused briefly when they couldn’t restrain themselves any longer. Clarke backed Lexa up against a park fence, the fabric of her t-shirt fisted tightly in Clarke’s grip. The bitter taste of gin on Clarke’s tongue was a sharp contrast with the sweetness of the rum on Lexa’s lips. Their bodies pressed up against each other and Lexa’s hands wandered over Clarke’s curves. They broke away from each other, panting, eyes wide with lust.

‘As much as I want you right now,’ Clarke rasped, closing her eyes to control herself. ‘I’d rather we had a bed handy.’

Lexa nodded, breathing just as heavily as Clarke was. They quickly made it the rest of the way back to the base and managed to resist getting side tracked again until they made it to Clarke’s accommodation. As soon as the door to Clarke’s room clicked shut, their restraint dropped along with their clothes. 

Technically, Clarke had kept her promise to Dr. Jackson: she hadn’t walked home alone.


	2. 10 Years Later

The roar of the Rover’s engine was white noise in Clarke’s ears. Her heartbeat pounded, overwhelmingly loud. Sweat dripped on her forehead and dread knotted in her stomach, unsure what awaited her on the outside of the transport doors.

'Nearly there, doc.' Miller gave her shoulder a firm thump, his voice raised to be heard over the noise despite their radio link.

Clarke shook her head to clear it. She needed to focus, for her own sake as well as her patient's. 

‘Blake, sit rep?'

Captain Bellamy Blake replied from the end of the row of seats, strapped in as the Rover jostled over the uneven ground. 'Artillery are focusing heavy fire on the eastern ridge where most of the hostiles were spotted. Air strike inbound, awaiting our go. Remaining hostiles appear to be located in the proximity of the nearby town to the south east; Grounder Company are keeping them engaged while we extract the patient.'

'He's one of Grounder Company, right? The guy who got hit?' Clarke made sure her med bag and supplies were strapped tight to her and accessible. She slightly loosened the straps that secured the stretcher to the inside of the armoured Rover.

'Yes ma'am, their medic.'

'Who's been administering first aid?'

'One of the team - the transmission didn't say exactly who. But these marines are all well trained, their combat first aid is as good as you can get outside the specialisation.'

'I know that, Bellamy,' Clarke gritted her teeth as they passed over a particularly jarring bump. 'I designed half the course myself.'

The truck swerved and threw Clarke back against the plated interior. Blake jumped from his seat to the driver’s window hatch, demanding to know what had happened. 

'Shots fired onto the road, sir!' Atom, the driver, yelled back. 'I can't get us closer without putting us all at risk!'

'How far from the patient are we?' Clarke asked, unable to see anything due to the lack of windows in the back of the Rover.

'500 metres!' Atom replied.

'Dammit that's not close enough!' Clarke slammed her palm into her thigh. 'I need to get to that marine!'

'Monty, get on the comms to the unit. See what we can do.' Blake ordered, kicking open the rear doors of the truck.

The bright Sangeda sun blinded them as soon as the doors opened. The sounds outside amplified without the protection of the reinforced doors. She could hear the rat-at-at of bullets as they pitted into the sand concerningly close to where they stood. There were shouts of infantry ahead, and the pained screams of the wounded marine.

Clarke dropped to the sand packed ground, weighed down by her pack and body armour. She crouched on one knee and peeked around the side of the Rover while the rest of the troop fanned out. Rifles scanned from side to side for enemy targets. Clarke could see where some of the marines were similarly crouched behind boulders, using them as both cover and a stable surface to fire from. She could also see where her patient lay, dragged behind Grounder Company’s out-of-action Rover, which offered little shelter from the fire as it faced the wrong direction.

In the distance, Clarke could see the sun bleached sandstone buildings of the town where the hostiles were holed up. In the shrubland to the left of their position, heavy fire could be heard as other insurgents were held at bay. 

‘Grounder Company said they’ll provide cover, boss,’ Monty relayed.

‘Standby for cover!’ Bellamy called out over the radio, loud in Clarke’s ear.

‘Ready!’ Monty repeated, focused on relaying whatever he heard from his counterpart further down the dirt track. ‘Go!’

Clarke saw three marines break from cover and, exposed, they started to fire at the ground a few hundred metres in front of them to kick up a wall of sand. They retreated, step by step, firing non-stop. 

Four other marines ran to the patient, crouched low. They grabbed a limb each and double timed the distance towards Clarke’s position. The first aider ran beside them, trying to apply as much pressure as he could on the move.

As soon as her patient was placed on the stretcher positioned in front of her, Clarke began her examination. The four marines who helped to transport the patient ran back to their positions to give supporting fire. 

The first aider remained, blood soaked hands pressed firmly against the patient’s chest. His tanned features dripped with sweat and traces of blood. ‘Gunshot wound to the upper right chest, I can’t see an exit wound. He’s losing a lot of blood. I’ve packed the wound and applied pressure where I could, but it’s not stopping.’ 

‘What’s the patient’s name?’ Clarke asked, running through her own checks with a well-trained eye to ensure nothing obvious had been missed.

‘Sergeant Nyko Olsson,’ the marine replied, ‘He’s our medic, ma’am; he’s got to be okay.’

‘I’ll do what I can from here,’ Clarke assured him, completing her initial survey and replacing the blood soaked gauze under Lincoln’s hands with a fresh one. ‘What you’ve done has saved his life.’

‘Thank you, ma’am,’ his heavy brows were fixed in concern for his friend.

‘What’s your name, marine?’ Clarke asked. Sgt Olsson groaned in agony and Clarke murmured to him to keep making noises for her. It helped her know that he was still conscious.

‘Corporal Brock, ma’am. Lincoln.’

‘Ok, Lincoln, I need you to lift the sergeant up onto his side so I can confirm there’s no exit wound.’

He nodded. Together they rolled Nyko onto his side, eliciting a strained groan, and Clarke manoeuvred to check the man’s broad back for signs that the bullet had passed cleanly through him. She couldn’t find any evidence of such. 

‘You were right; no exit wound,’ Clarke shook her head. ‘Ok Lincoln, we’ll do what we can here but he will need surgery as the bullet is still lodged in there somewhere. The entry wound is too close to his lung for me to risk removal here, especially while we’re holding up a strike. The closest facility is FOB Jaha. Can you inform your CO?’ 

‘Tell her yourself, doc,’ Lincoln gestured his head towards the line of those providing constant fire to keep up the sand cloud. The central figure broke away from the formation and sprinted to Nyko’s side, skidding to their knees and grasping his forearm.

‘How’s he doing, medic?’

Clarke’s breath caught at the sight of a face she hadn’t seen in ten years. ‘Lexa?’

‘Clarke?’ Her green eyes were just as bright as Clarke remembered, in sharp contrast with the whites of her eyes and dirt smeared skin. Lincoln glanced between the pair.

‘He’ll need surgery, ASAP,’ Clarke brought her attention back to her patient. ‘I can do what I can en route to FOB Jaha, but time is crucial here.’

‘Roger that,’ Lexa nodded. ‘Linc, you go with Nyko. We’ll meet you back at the FOB once we’re secure.’

‘Boss, I can stay,’ Lincoln objected, but Lexa cut him off firmly.

‘Nyko needs you right now.’

Lincoln set his jaw and nodded. ‘Yes, ma’am.’

‘What’s your evac assessment, Doctor?’ Lexa asked Clarke. 

‘We’ll have to go by Rover,’ Clarke gestured at the vehicle behind her. ‘It’ll be quicker than a helo back to Jaha. No medevac will dare get close before the air strike.’

Lexa nodded. ‘Agreed. I’ll get things rolling with Blake.’

Clarke retrieved a thick roll of bandage from her pack and glanced up to see that Lexa had already stepped away, barking orders through her headset.

‘You know Major Woods, doc?’ Lincoln asked. 

Clarke didn’t answer. ‘We need to fix the packing in place, lift him up slightly and I’ll get this bandage around him.’

Lincoln did as she said, murmuring encouragement to Nyko as they worked. Clarke stayed focused on her task. She couldn’t afford to be distracted at that moment; not even by Lexa Woods appearing from out of the blue.


	3. A Stitch in Time

Clarke was exhausted but relieved. Nyko was stable, albeit under a close eye in the ICU, and awaiting a priority medical transport back to Arkadia. He would need a considerable amount of additional surgery and rehab that battlefield surgeons just couldn’t provide. Not exactly the circumstances that Clarke imagined he would want to return home under. 

Clarke was just drifting off to sleep when a quiet knock at her door brought her back. Clarke groaned, hoping it wasn’t another soldier with a headache or a blister. They always came by at inconvenient times, and it was the worst thing about Clarke’s accommodation being situated next door to the makeshift clinic. 

It had its perks however, being one of the few private areas on camp. She had proper walls instead of canvas, sandstone not khaki, which also helped to cool the room during the heat of the day. But those bonuses that the soldiers sleeping in ten-man tents dreamt of, came at the cost of always having to be available to bandage or stitch one of them up. 

‘Who is it?’ Clarke asked, throwing on a uniform shirt over her pyjama vest top. Despite the cooler building, it was too damn hot to sleep in anything else.

‘Major Woods,’ came the reply. 

Clarke swore under her breath. She hadn’t really been expecting to run into Lexa again now that Nyko was being transported elsewhere. 

Now that Clarke knew who it was, she didn’t bother with the rest of her uniform, and left her shorts on. She combed through her hair with her fingers, just to make it a little bit more presentable, but she wanted Lexa to know she’d just woken her up. Clarke’s stomach jittered, wondering why Lexa was outside her door. 

Clarke took a breath and opened the door. ‘How can I help?’

Away from the heat of battle, without the risk of flying bullets or patients bleeding out in front of her, Clarke took a proper look at Lexa. Gone was the slightly awkward, far too cocky, new recruit that Clarke had first met. The Lexa stood in front of her was a battle hardened leader; Clarke could see the difference in her eyes. Even the way she held herself radiated a quiet confidence, a contrast to the casual saunter Clarke had known. 

But they had both grown and changed since then. Ten years was a long time. 

‘I just wanted to say thank you.’ Clarke had almost forgotten how soft Lexa’s voice could be when it was just the two of them. ‘On behalf of the whole Company, for everything you did for Nyko.’

‘You’re welcome,’ Clarke replied, wondering who would break first and bring up the elephant between them. 

‘I also thought you should know that Grounder Company will be stationed to FOB Jaha for the remaining six months of our tour.’

Clarke’s stomach flipped at the implication.  _ I’ll be here for the next six months, until we both go home. _

‘Thanks for the heads up.’ Clarke cursed whatever force was out there that had plotted to trap her with Lexa in the very same desert sands that Lexa had left her for all those years ago.

Lexa took a step back. ‘I’ll let you get back to bed, apologies for disturbing you.’

As she turned, Clarke caught a glimpse of a patch of blood on Lexa’s left bicep, soaked through the sleeve of her uniform shirt, and the doctor within her took over.

‘Lex, your arm,’ she stepped away from the door and caught the marine by the arm. ‘What happened?’ 

Typically, Lexa shrugged. ‘Caught a stray bullet, it’s just a scratch. I've bandaged it already.'

Clarke lifted Lexa’s arm and tried to examine the area in the awkward lighting of the corridor. ‘That’s not a scratch; you need a tetanus shot and stitches. Come on.’

Clarke led Lexa across the corridor into the clinic. She let go of Lexa’s arm to wheel over the LED spotlight to the examination bench. Lexa perched on the end of the bench.

‘Take your shirt off and lift your sleeve up,' Clarke ordered, fetching the supplies needed to clean out a wound.

Lexa hesitantly unbuttoned her combat shirt, then rolled up the left sleeve of the t-shirt underneath. 

Clarke’s eyes lingered briefly on the intricate tattoo on Lexa’s right arm, remembering when it was one of her favourite things to trace her finger over. She mentally shook herself and refocused her gaze on Lexa’s left arm. The white bandage Lexa had applied in the field was absorbing the blood, and the growing red stain indicated that the wound wasn't clotting on its own.

Clarke pulled on some gloves and unwrapped the bandage, lifting Lexa's arm up as she did so to try to reduce the blood flow. The two toned skin of Lexa’s upper arm alluded to her time spent in the unforgiving Sankru sun. The bullet had grazed just above the line of Lexa’s t-shirt, cutting into the paler portion of skin. It had shorn off a slither of fabric as well as puncturing a hole in Lexa’s shirt. 

Clarke focused on the job at hand. She tried not to think about how after all those years Lexa was back in front of her again. How she was close enough that all Clarke could smell was Lexa. As sweaty and covered in dust and sand as she was, it was a familiar scent that took Clarke back to their time together. 

Clarke could feel Lexa's intense gaze as she worked and did her best to ignore it. Clarke gave her a tetanus shot before she cleaned the wound and applied an antiseptic. Lexa gave out a small hiss as the torn skin stung. 

'Keep your arm up,' Clarke lifted Lexa's arm so that it was straight up above her head. 'It's a little deeper than a scratch so I'll give you a local anaesthetic and some temporary stitches. They'll dissolve over time so you won't need to come back and get them removed.'

Lexa shook her head. 'No anaesthetic.' 

Clarke sighed at the not unexpected request. 'Are you sure? The stitches will be puncturing through your skin and literally pulling the edges together with thread. The nerve endings are already sensitive from the bullet so your pain receptors are going to amplify the pain to more than just a needle prick.’

'This isn't my first time being stitched up, Clarke,' Lexa replied, the ghost of a smile pulling at the side of her lips. Clarke felt a strange pull at the sound of her name from Lexa’s mouth. 'No painkillers.'

‘Suit yourself,’ Clarke huffed. ‘Bloody marines,’ she muttered under her breath. She gathered together a stitch tray, manipulated Lexa’s arm into a suitable position, and lowered the examination bench so that Lexa’s wound was level with her eyeline when she sat on the stool. 

‘It’s a good thing the bullet caught this arm,’ Clarke noted as she set to work, trying to normalise the situation.

‘What do you mean?’ Lexa’s jaw clenched as the first stitch pierced her skin. 

‘Your tattoo,’ Clarke stated simply. ‘This would have cut straight through it.’

Lexa stayed silent, leaving Clarke to wonder whether she would need to give her a painkiller after all. But when she spoke her voice was level and calm. 

‘I didn’t expect to see you again.’

Clarke focused intently on her stitching. She realised that small talk wasn’t going to erase the gulf of unspoken words between them so decided to stay silent. Lexa’s sudden reappearance was opening a box of emotions that had been buried deep. As such, Clarke may have pulled a little too harshly on her next stitch, which elicited a sharp hiss from Lexa.

‘I’m glad I have though,’ Lexa added, teeth gritted against the pain. ‘The army’s lucky to still have you.’

Clarke tried to hold her tongue but some of her pent up anger slipped out. ‘What the hell is that meant to mean?’ 

Lexa seemed surprised at Clarke’s reaction and twisted her head to look at her. ‘I thought you had been planning on leaving?’

Clarke breathed heavily through her nose. She couldn’t believe that Lexa thought she would leave the army  _ \- did she think it was because of her? _ ‘I don’t know what gave you that impression, but if you’d bothered to ask me over the past decade you’d know I wouldn’t do that. Not when I have a duty as a doctor.’

Lexa nodded, she faced forward again with a clenched jaw as Clarke continued her stitching. ‘That’s why I was surprised.’

Clarke had two stitches left before she could finish up and get Lexa out of her clinic. Neither of them spoke, and the silence between them swelled like a balloon, both of them waited for it to pop under the tension.

‘Done,’ Clarke placed her instruments on the tray and stood up. She reeled off the standard aftercare advice as Lexa tested out bending her arm. 

‘Thank you, Clarke,’ Lexa placed her shirt over her shoulder, following Clarke’s instructions to keep her stitches aired where possible. ‘And I meant what I said; it really is good to see you again.’

Something about Lexa’s words and the sight of her turned away in the doorway made Clarke see red. Clarke could no longer contain the eruption of feelings that had been bubbling to the surface through their whole interaction. 

‘Is that it?’ Clarke slammed the suture tray down on her desk with a clang. ‘Ten years and you’re not even going to apologise for what you did to me? Not going to say anything other than it’s “ _ good to see me” _ ?’

Clarke couldn’t see Lexa’s face while she remained facing away, but the subtle adjustment to her posture; the way she stood up a little straighter and her shoulders inched back told Clarke that Lexa had been expecting some sort of discussion of their past and her part in it. Ever so slowly, she turned to face Clarke. 

‘I didn’t think you wanted to talk about it.’

‘I don’t.’ Clarke snapped. ‘But if we’re both stuck here with each other for the next six months then I want to make a few things clear: we are  _ not  _ going to pick up the past.’

Lexa shook her head. ‘Of course not.’

But Clarke wasn’t finished with her tirade. ‘I moved on with my life after you left and have no intention of revisiting anything. I don’t want you to mention  _ anything _ to  _ anyone _ about us. I have a reputation and you will not jeopardize that. Is that clear?’

Lexa nodded stiffly. 

Clarke took a deep breath. She had expected Lexa to refute her demands, or argue just a little bit at least that Clarke was being unfair. Clarke was ready and willing to defend her words and unleash a barrage of blame on Lexa for what she did. But instead Lexa just stood stock still and withstood the brunt of Clarke’s rage that was starting to abate from the lack of reaction. Maybe she wasn’t reacting because she also blamed herself.

‘You hurt me,’ Clarke said, softly. ‘It took awhile for me to accept that you weren’t coming back, and I hated you for a very long time because of it. I’m not sure I’ll ever forgive you, but I hope that while we’re here we can at least be civil to one another.’

‘I hope that too,’ Lexa replied. Her green eyes, full of understanding, met Clarke’s with her trademark intensity.

Clarke swallowed thickly. ‘Then I’ll see you around, Major.’

‘Captain.’ Lexa dipped her head and departed. Clarke barely heard her booted footsteps as they left the med building. Suddenly she felt quite alone and lost in the familiar surroundings of her clinic. 

Clarke didn’t know what exactly she had expected to come from confronting Lexa. An apology? Recognition of how much she had hurt Clarke? Acknowledgement of how they could have had totally different lives for the past decade if Lexa hadn’t been so stupidly selfless yet selfish? It all made Clarke’s head spin. 

She rubbed her eyes and found herself back in her bunk, but try as she might she couldn’t drift off to sleep. She listened to the goings on about camp with her eyes closed. Long buried memories dredged back to the surface of her mind played over and over until the bright light of the Sankru dawn forced its way through her blinds for another day at war. 


End file.
